The room
Our space
One room, big windows, the market square outside. Morning light does most of the decorating; we just keep the tables close enough to eavesdrop and far enough not to.
The kitchen is small, busy and open at one end. Everything is cooked to order, from whatever the farms and the coast brought in that week.
At half four on a bistro night the whole place turns. Candles out, music down a notch, the long table cleared for whoever booked it first.
Fed properly, sat by the window, in no hurry at all.
The suppliers
Flour from a Cumbrian mill. Hogget from a fellside farm twenty minutes away. Coffee roasted in the North West. Vegetables from whoever grew them best that week. We would name names, but they would only get busier.
